“Tell us about Gavin,” says Wanda. She lives at Water’s Edge Retirement Center and brought Miss Erma with her last class. She takes off her horn-rimmed glasses and wipes them on her bright polyester flower print blouse. Wanda is a peacemaker, it probably comes from having four daughters and eleven grandchildren. One of her granddaughters is Juliet—the owner of the wine bar.

I look at Gladiola and make sure she’s okay. She puts the tissue back in her sleeve and smiles at me.

“Well…” I dig the toe of my high heel into the short-pile moss-green-colored carpet. I sigh. What can I tell them about Gavin to help them understand why he’s right for me?

“Is he also a tiger in a suit, waiting to rip off his buttons and eat you?”

“Umm…” I feel my cheeks flush red. I think of Will and the way he sometimes watches me.

“Not at all. They’re complete opposites.”

“Hmm. Sad,” says Petunia.

“Stop that. William isn’t her soul mate, Gavin is. Stop making trouble,” scolds Gladiola.

Petunia sticks her tongue out at her sister.

“Lord help me,” says Gladiola.

“Go on, dear,” Wanda says.

“Well…” I drag my toe over the carpet. “Gavin is always smiling and laughing. He makes people comfortable, even those who are usually shy in public. He can make any situation fun. His smile—”

I think about the years I counted every single smile he ever gave where I could see him. Seven smiles when he was twelve. Twenty smiles at age thirteen. Eighteen smiles when he was fourteen. And zero smiles when he was fifteen. That was the year his mom died, although I didn’t know until after he left Romeo.

“His smile makes me smile.” I look up from the carpet at their expressions.

“That’s wonderful, dear. What’s he like when you talk?” Wanda gives me an encouraging nod.

My neck prickles. I can count the number of times we’ve spoken on one hand. I know how ridiculous it seems to have wanted him for so long without ever really speaking to him. But…

“Well, we haven’t talked much.” I press my hand my stomach. “But…the day my mom died…”

“I remember,” Wanda says.

Gladiola nods. “We were there. You ran off. Your father was desperately worried.”

I look up in surprise. I never knew he even realized I was gone. “I ran home. When I got there, Will was there, he shoved me into a mud puddle.”

Gladiola lets out an angry humph. I lift a shoulder. I don’t know why Will does what he does. Not when he was eight, not now.

“Gavin found me in the puddle. We climbed a tree together, and he told me since both our moms had left, we could be friends. I was crying so he gave me his handkerchief.”

“Oooh, dashing,” Petunia says.

“What kind of eight-year-old carries a hanky?” Gladiola asks.